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2周前

Part 49 •「他們靠恐懼維繫體制，我靠記憶對抗崩潰」 Gao Zhisheng Series 高智晟連載 ⸻ 黑袋子再次罩住我頭部的那一刻，我已不再掙扎。我學會了怎樣調整呼吸，讓肺部在窒息中維持節奏。那不只是技巧，而是一種囚徒與死亡共處的經驗。他們問我：“你覺得中國有希望嗎？” 我說：“如果連這句話都不能問，中國當然沒希望。” 審訊者笑了，然後用手掌壓住我脖子：“那你覺得你是誰？一個聖人？還是烈士？” 我說：“我只是個還沒說夠話的人。” 這些年我一直在想，中國不是沒有自由，而是恐懼成了生活的條件。孩子在校園裡學會了沉默；工人在車間裡被教導服從；律師不能用法律保護人，記者不能用筆記錄真相。一整個制度靠“不要出頭”的文化維繫，而不是靠信任或法律。我記得一位農婦坐了三十多個小時火車來北京，只為遞交一封冤情材料。她站在我辦公室門口說：“高律師，我知道你會接我這個案子，因為你不像他們那樣怕。” 她說的“怕”，不是怕權力，而是怕連看見真相都要付出代價。在黑暗中，我常想起她的臉。那不是一張弱者的臉，而是一個民族的證據。 ⸻ English Version (Translation): Part 49 • “They Sustain the System Through Fear — I Resist Collapse Through Memory” When the black hood was pulled over my head again, I no longer struggled. I had learned how to control my breathing — not just a skill, but the experience of living side-by-side with suffocation and death. They asked me, “Do you think China has hope?” I said, “If even that question cannot be asked, then clearly it doesn’t.” The interrogator laughed, then pressed his hand against my neck. “So who do you think you are? A saint? A martyr?” I replied, “I’m just someone who hasn’t finished speaking.” For years I’ve pondered this: China does not lack freedom; it is that fear has become a condition of life. Children learn silence in school. Workers are taught obedience on the factory floor. Lawyers cannot defend with law, and journalists cannot report truth with a pen. An entire system survives not on trust or justice — but on a culture of ‘don’t stand out’. I remember a peasant woman who spent over 30 hours on a train to Beijing just to hand over a petition. She stood outside my office and said: “Lawyer Gao, I know you’ll take my case. You’re not afraid like they are.” The “fear” she spoke of wasn’t fear of power — it was fear of the price one pays just to see the truth. In the darkness, I often remember her face. It wasn’t the face of a victim. It was the proof of a nation still alive.

#高智晟 #酷刑 #人权 #中国 #政治迫害

2周前

Part 48 •「不是黑夜讓我沉默，是我在黑夜中醒來」 Gao Zhisheng Series 高智晟連載 ⸻ 我開始意識到，他們的目標從來不是逼我承認什麼具體的“罪名”，而是摧毀一個人的思考能力與信念支撐。他們問的問題總是空洞的，例如：「你為什麼總是提司法獨立？」「你對我們這個國家到底有什麼不滿？」我曾經不理解為什麼一個國家要懼怕一個律師的文字。但在這樣長期的軟禁與審訊中，我明白了：他們真正害怕的，是那種源於真實苦難的良知發聲，是思想的獨立，是人民的覺醒。我從牆角的一點光線想到：如果一堵牆能讓光進來，那它就不是絕對的黑暗。中國也是如此。那些真誠為民請命的人，那些還敢寫、敢問、敢舉報、敢抗議的普通人，他們就是我們這個民族還沒徹底死去的證據。我不再問自己為什麼還要堅持。我問的是：如果我不堅持，那我怎麼面對我寫過的每一封公開信？怎麼面對千萬個曾找我幫助的冤民？黑夜沒有讓我沉默，反而讓我醒來。 ⸻ English Version (Translation) Part 48 • “It Wasn’t the Darkness That Silenced Me — It Was the Darkness That Awoke Me” I began to realize that their goal was never about forcing a confession to some made-up “crime.” Their aim was to destroy a man’s capacity to think and to believe. Their questions were always vague and ideological: “Why do you always talk about judicial independence?” “What’s your problem with this country?” I used to wonder why a government would fear the words of a mere lawyer. But through these long months of confinement and interrogation, I understood: What they truly fear is the voice of conscience born of real suffering. They fear independent thought. They fear the awakening of the people. Even the faintest light in the corner of my cell reminded me: if a wall allows light to enter, then it is not absolute darkness. China is the same. Those who still speak out, write, protest, or resist — they are the proof that our nation is not entirely dead yet. I stopped asking myself why I must endure. Instead, I asked: If I don’t endure, how can I face the open letters I’ve written? How can I face the thousands of petitioners who came to me for help? The darkness did not silence me. It awakened me.

#高智晟 #良知发声 #司法独立 #人权律师 #政治迫害

3周前

Part 45 •「習慣沉默以後」 Gao Zhisheng Series 高智晟連載 ⸻ 有一天，我突然發現，我已經很久沒有開口說話了。我不是不能說，而是不想說。語言成了危險的東西，每一個詞都可能被當成證據，被記錄，被曲解。我只能學會和自己說話，在心裏小聲地說，慢慢地說。牆上那盞燈還亮著，但我知道那只是表面的光。這裡面真正的黑暗，是靜默，是你說出話來卻不再有意義的時候。我曾經無數次地問過自己——如果我就這麼沉默下去，是不是也算是一種死亡？但心裏總有一個聲音：不，沉默不是死亡，只要你還記得你為什麼選擇沉默。有時候，沉默是對謊言最大的反抗。有時候，不說一句話，反而能讓真相更響亮。那晚，我在黑暗中閉上眼睛，試圖想像我女兒的聲音。我想像她在門口喊：「爸爸，你回來了嗎？」我沒開口，只是眼角濕了。他們不能奪走我的記憶，也無法奪走我內心的光。因為我還知道自己是誰—— 我是高智晟。我還活著。 ⸻ Part 45• “After Silence Becomes a Habit” Gao Zhisheng Series ⸻ One day, I realized—I hadn’t spoken in a long time. Not because I couldn’t, but because I no longer wanted to. Speech had become dangerous. Every word was a trap—recorded, twisted, turned against me. So I learned to speak only to myself—in whispers, in slow, cautious thoughts. The light on the wall was still on, but I knew it wasn’t real. The true darkness was this: when words no longer mattered. Many times I asked myself—if I stayed silent forever, would that be a kind of death? But inside, a voice replied: No. Silence is not death, as long as you remember why you chose it. Sometimes, silence is the strongest protest against lies. Sometimes, saying nothing makes the truth louder. That night, I closed my eyes and imagined my daughter’s voice, standing at the door, calling softly: “Daddy, are you back?” I didn’t answer. My lips stayed still. But tears slipped down my face. They couldn’t take my memories. They couldn’t take the light I held within. Because I still knew who I was— I am Gao Zhisheng. And I am still alive.

#高智晟 #沉默 #政治迫害 #言论自由

3周前

《709两周年记》 #高智晟 × #709律师系列 ③ 2017年，“709大抓捕”整整过去两年。那一天，高智晟在被软禁的深山，写下一段话： “709，是国家用黑夜回答良知的方式。” “它摧毁的，不只是几位律师的自由，而是我们这一代法律人最后的体面。” 他没有网络、没有出版自由，只有一支笔和一个信念。他说：“我不能不写。再不写，他们连被记住的资格都要被剥夺。” 📄 《709两周年记》这篇文字，不长，情绪也很克制。但你能从中读出一种撕裂—— 一种身为律师、但眼睁睁看着法律被踩在脚下的愤怒；一种身为人，却不能为“还活着的人”发声的无力。 📣 今天，那些曾被写进这篇文章的律师，大多数都已经获得自由、重获发声权。而写下这段文字的高智晟，却在几周后——2017年8月13日，被再次带走，从此失踪，至今八年。他为我们写下了黑夜的记录。我们是否，也该为他点起一盏灯？

1个月前

Part 40 • 黑夜如焚，我仍咬住信念 Gao Zhisheng Series 高智晟連載 ⸻ 我不知道今天是星期幾，也不知道這夜晚是否真有盡頭。但我知道，我還活著。還能聽見自己的心跳，還能記得格格和天昱的笑聲。審訊沒有聲音了。那群人這幾日再也沒有開口，甚至連腳步聲都刻意壓低。但我聽得見牆那邊偶爾傳來的電台聲，一閃即逝，像在提醒我：外面的世界，還存在。我靠數呼吸來記時間，靠回憶妻子的眼神來提醒自己：你不是一個幽靈。「高智晟，你還是你嗎？」我在內心一遍遍問。答案是—— 當我還能在黑夜裡想起光，還能在沉默裡念出「正義」二字，我就還是。那一夜，我開始反問自己：「他們以為可以把你變成什麼？一具順從的軀殼？一個放棄記憶的工具？不，我要用每一次微弱的思緒，抵抗他們的塑造。」我知道，未來不屬於黑暗。黑暗可以遮住我的眼，但遮不住我的信仰。這信仰，不是給敵人聽的，是給我自己聽的。為了活下去，為了在失語中不被抹除。我將這些信念一筆一劃地刻在靈魂上。等光來了，我還要替更多人說話。 ⸻ Part 40 • The Night Burns, but I Hold On to Faith Gao Zhisheng Series ⸻ I no longer know what day it is, nor whether this night has an end. But I know I’m still alive. I can still hear my own heartbeat, still remember the laughter of Gege and Tianyu. The interrogators have gone silent. They haven’t spoken in days— even their footsteps are muted, deliberately so. But beyond the walls, I sometimes catch fleeting radio signals— as if the outside world is whispering, “We still exist.” I count breaths to keep time. I summon the image of my wife’s eyes to remind myself: I am not a ghost. “Gao Zhisheng, are you still yourself?” I ask silently. The answer is— If I can still recall light in the darkness, still mouth the word justice in silence, then yes, I am. That night, I asked myself again: “What do they think they can make you into? An obedient shell? A tool that forgets its past? No. I will resist with every thought I can muster.” I know the future doesn’t belong to the dark. Darkness may blind my eyes, but it cannot obscure my faith. This faith isn’t for them to hear— it’s for me, to survive, to endure without being erased. I carve these convictions deep into my soul. When the light returns, I will speak again—for many others.

1个月前

Part 37 • 冬夜裡，我聽見了格格的聲音 Gao Zhisheng Series 高智晟連載 ⸻ 那是2006年冬季，被秘密拘禁的第六個月。那晚寒得刺骨，空氣裡似乎連分子都凍住了，牆壁滲著濕冷，我的每一口呼吸，彷彿都要用意志去完成。審訊官沒說話，只把一個錄音機放在我面前，冷冷地丟下一句話：「照稿念。」我望著那張紙，紙上的每個字，都是他們編好的謊言。那是我人生中第一次，被逼「錄口供」。我一字未念。房間裡很靜，靜得我能聽見自己心跳，就在那一刻——我彷彿聽見格格的聲音，在我耳邊輕輕說話。那不是幻覺。那是記憶的某處被點燃。她的聲音像陽光，穿過我這片黑夜的空洞。我低聲對自己說： “我還不能倒下，格格在等我回家。” 我沒有念那份口供。審訊官沉默不語，收起錄音機，走了。他們以為我屈服了，但我在那晚，重拾了更堅定的力量。這場審訊不是結束，而是另一場抵抗的開始。我知道，真正的審判，不是在這個房間裡。 ⸻ Part 37 • On a Winter Night, I Heard Gege’s Voice Gao Zhisheng Series ⸻ It was the sixth month of my secret detention in the winter of 2006. That night was freezing. The air itself seemed frozen, and the damp walls pressed coldness into my bones. The interrogator said nothing— just placed a recorder before me and dropped a single sentence: “Read it. As written.” I looked at the paper. Each word was a lie they had written for me to confess. It was the first time in my life I was forced to “record a confession.” I read nothing. The silence was so complete, I could hear my heartbeat. And then—I heard Gege’s voice. It wasn’t a hallucination. It was memory, ignited in the cold. Her voice shone like sunlight through my darkness. I whispered to myself: “I cannot fall yet. Gege is waiting for me to come home.” I didn’t read it. The interrogator remained silent, took the recorder, and left. They thought I had surrendered. But that night, I found a new strength. That interrogation wasn’t an ending— it was the beginning of another kind of resistance. I knew: the true judgment was not in that room.

3个月前

陈维明老师回顾了自由雕塑公园的建立历程：从他与赵云北两个人开始，到如今每天上百人参观、几十辆车进出，越来越多的人加入，为信念出力出汗。我也看到了义工们风餐露宿的身影，那些离去的游客，常常摇下车窗竖起大拇指，那是最真诚的尊重。我们的行為打破了西方人对“中国人只种菜”的偏见，用雕塑与艺术传达对自由、民主的追求。我们并不孤单，我们正在重塑外界对中国人的认知，我们在坚持，也在改变。

#自由雕塑公园 #陈维明 #赵云北 #自由 #民主 #中国人 #偏见 #艺术 #雕塑 #义工